Forever Means Forever
by cocoartist
Summary: If she ever saw Unspeakable Number 37 again she would kill him with her bare hands. Hermione's research into the Veil results in an unexpected side-effect. HG/TRJ Prompt fic for tellmesomethingnew


___"He shall never know I love him: and that, not because he's handsome, but because he's more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made out of, his and mine are the same."_

___― Emily Brontë, __Wuthering Heights_

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Prompt: "Somehow Hermione is forced into a Soulbond with Tom Riddle for an important health reason and eventually, the two can't help how perfect everything feels being Soulbonded and thus, fall in love. Hermione tries to stay in denial of the feelings she has for him."

* * *

_Soul bonded_. She glared across the scuffed table at him. Soul bonded. Getting - quite literally - caught up in the Veil had had the worst possible consequence and now if she didn't agree to this ridiculous farce she would be dragged back into death with him. The outline of his body was slightly blurred, and it was growing fainter with every hour that she waited to consolidate their bond. He'd been corporeal for almost seven hours now, the first four of which had had him shut in alone while the Unspeakables panicked about their mistake. Not her mistake, although they'd tried to blame her, but whoever Unspeakable Number 37 was she sincerely hoped he was heading for a demotion. He'd had _one job_, she reflected. One job, which was to maintain the barrier between her and the Veil while she examined it more closely and he had managed to royally fuck it up. With every passing hour she'd felt her headache increasing, felt herself pulled unnaturally towards the interrogation room until finally she'd barged in and chucked them all out so that she could think in peace. The fact that _he_ was there was preventing that, however.

Soul. Bonded. To a man who had thought nothing of ripping his own into seven pieces. Not exactly how she'd envisioned the future, but she had to admit that it was preferable to those terrifying seconds when the Veil had begun to wrap itself around her, drawing her into its icy darkness, filled with strange whispers. Number 62, whoever _they _were, deserved a very big reward for managing to pull her back... even if the consequence had been a second body following seconds later.

"Just out of curiosity, was Arithmancy your worst subject in school or were you generally stupid?" she asked snottily.

He started, and she was pleased to see that for the first time in their not-exactly-a-conversation she'd actually shocked him. They'd been sitting in the Auror's interrogation room for three hours, most of which had consisted of her silently glaring at him over the table while he tried to persuade her that he was reformed. She wasn't stupid enough to believe _that. _Still, she was a pragmatist, not a hero, and if there really was no alternative...

"We're discussing our permanently bound future together and you would like to know my skills with Arithmancy?"

And oh boy, did permanently mean permanently. Even, it was hypothesised, after death.

"I only ask because it occurred to me, quite a long time ago actually - when I was helping defeat your former self," she smiled sweetly at him before continuing, "that only someone who was _extraordinarily_ bad at maths would choose to split their soul into seven as you did."

"And why is that?" he said, tersely. He was trying to win her over, or he probably wouldn't bother. Or maybe she'd actually caught his curiosity on this one.

"Well - wait let me draw it for you, it's much the easiest way to explain basic fractions." She conjured a piece of paper and a pencil and he scowled at her wand, hands cuffed to the table. Presumably even in this new - or was it old - form he was able to do wandless magic? Even so, she was glad he didn't have access to one.

Yet. Legally speaking they couldn't touch him for the crimes committed by his past self, so if she agreed to this he'd have a wand and then... Anyway, she'd worry about that later.

"Right here's a whole. Now, split it in two and you get two halves. This one's you, and that's your Diary. Now, your father was next yes? So, the Ring. I'm sure you're quite gutted that you didn't recognise it's real powers... So we'll divide again, only this time of course you're left with a quarter of your former self. Now, we're down to an eighth with - what? Oh, the Cup? Or the locket? Yes of course. Now, down to one-sixteenth with the murder of Hepzibah Smith. We will be discussing your idiocy regarding House Elves at a later date... Now, the diadem was next if memory serves... so that leaves - can you manage to work out the exact fraction of yourself that you managed to retain until your accidental seventh Horcrux? Harry's fine, by the way."

"One over thirty two, if, as you are assuming, the soul is severed in two each time."

"And then you _still made Nagini_! So your body contained 1/64th of your soul at the time of your defeat. Clearly someone didn't read Magnus Viborg's extremely illuminating essay on the subject. It was published in 1628, so I'm not really sure how you missed that one. Not to mention that it's referenced in _Secrets of the Darkest Art_. All efforts to disprove him - and the evidence of my own encounters with your Horcruxes - indicate that this was correct. The last couldn't even manage to possess a one year old child despite being conveniently deposited in him. I'm not sure I could bear to be bonded forever to someone who is quite so stupid."

He actually growled at her. This was actually a lot more fun that she'd anticipated - all those years of frustration and finally the correct person to vent at... forever. That was rather a dampener.

"Now, we've got quite a lot to talk about if I'm going to agree to this. I like living, so I might, but I'm also pretty keen on other people living so taking you with me would probably be a great act of martyrdom. Terribly Gryffindor. I can't have you running around killing anyone. It would make me look bad."

"I promise I won't."

"Well now, that is convincing."

He smirked. She examined his face - ridiculously handsome, dark eyes, cheekbones you could cut diamonds with, neatly parted wavy hair... but his outline was getting fainter.

"You're sixteen aren't you. They've put you back in your _sixteen year old body_. The last time you were whole, I suppose? I'm twenty-five, I refuse to become soul bonded to a child."

"I'm sure an adequate ageing potion can be located."

She shrugged. She could make a permanent one, it wouldn't be too difficult. Besides, his age was hardly the decisive factor in her decision here. She could either essentially marry Tom Riddle - only a soul bonding was so much more than that and indeed it would be a marriage of their very essences - to anchor them _both _to this side of the Veil, or she could die with him and take the risk of his future wrong-doings away.

Except they were already tied, as evidenced by the fact that she couldn't leave this damned room. Would she be stuck with him forever (and ever) if she didn't go through with whatever the highly irregular and secret ceremony was?

"You seem quite well-read in the Dark Arts, Miss Granger. I'm... surprised."

This time it was her turn to smirk.

"Those particular books are given freely to students with the capacity to withstand their temptations. It was actually Professor Dumbeldore who arranged for me to have them all." She smiled at him smugly. "I've built quite a library since then, all sorts of rare texts, I suppose you'll see it later. _Not _that I've made a decision, but it's getting late and I'd like to go home so you might as well be bound as a prisoner in my flat instead of this appalling room. Apparently we can't be separated until I agree to this or we die, which seems rather unfair." Her head was beginning to pound, and she trusted her own potions much more than the Ministry's. And her brush with death early this morning had left her exhausted.

"Fine with me, but you might want to gage the timescale before rushing off home. In case you hadn't noticed I am beginning to fade."

She called to the two Aurors standing guard outside the room, luckily neither were Harry and Ron (she wasn't actually sure if they'd been informed of this unfortunate development yet) and they came rushing in as though she were being harmed. Really, as if she weren't perfectly capable of looking after herself.

"I would like to go home, what exactly is my timeline for a decision here? He's starting to fade."

"Um well - think we'd need to consult the Unspeakables on that one."

Presumably no one actually knew because this had never, ever happened before. It was only lucky - if that was the word - chance that had drawn an expert in the subject to the panicking (not a sight often seen) Unspeakables. An expert on soul magic, who had recognised the initial tie between Riddle and herself. She had been the one to recognise him though, his face burned forever into her memory after wearing his Horcrux for all those months.

"Right well you can go and do that, and your charming friend here can make arrangements for this idiot to be imprisoned in my flat overnight. I'm going home, I'm so tired I don't care if we do die again and I won't be around to regret it so you'd better hope we've got till the morning."

"Yes, Miss Granger we'll go and sort that out straight away. Need to speak to the Minister, he'll be down and -"

"Yes yes just get on with it."

They left and she sat back in her chair, rubbing her temples. Her headache was increasing by the second.

"Quite the bossy little war hero aren't you?" he commented, but he was frowning.

"I'll let you in on a secret, Riddle. The entire Auror department is shit-scared of me."

"Why is that?"

"No idea. Quite useful though." Possibly because they'd witnessed her break-up with Ron three years ago, or because she'd been known to correct even very senior officials, or because she was very good friends with the Minister - bonds formed fighting on the back of a thestral don't fade easily - or maybe just because she was Hermione Granger and she had a tendency to always get her way and be absolutely right whilst doing it.

Actually, she was pretty sure it's because most of the Ministry knew what she'd done to Umbridge and that's why they were scared but as everyone was so reluctant to bring it up in her presence she couldn't be certain.

"You seem very in charge here..." He was looking interested now, and a bit greedy. "Aurors running at your word, the Unspeakables letting you experiment in the Death Chamber without taking their vows... Why is that?"

"Why did they Unspeakables allow me in?"

"Why is everyone so keen to do your bidding? But yes, why were you allowed to experiment? Not that I'm complaining, naturally."

"I'm not sure actually. I just asked, and they said of course I could. I was _trying _to find out more about it and if it actually lead into death itself or if it was a separate, and therefore accessible, chamber. Clearly I have my answer now. People assume all sorts of things, but it never occurred to anyone that it was a two-way door. I was just examining it to see if it would be possible to get the last person in back out - to see if one went through that way if it was different from a normal death, if you like - until that reprehensible_ idiot_ messed up and pushed me against it. What I still don't understand is why _you_ came out. You've had enough chances at rebirth already, surely?"

"Yes, horribly unfair isn't it?" He had the audacity to grin. "Perhaps, had someone else touched it, someone else would have come out?"

"You are looking forward to being soul bonded to a Muggleborn, then?"

"You are highly intelligent, rather beautiful, and appear to have everyone quaking in their boots. I am certainly not opposed to the idea. And as you so succinctly put it, _I like living._"

"I _loathe_ you."

"But do you, really? How many men have you met who really challenge you... _Hermione_? I have been challenging you since you entered this world although you didn't know it and nor did I. You, the only person in seven hundred years to work out that there was a Basilisk in Hogwarts. A thirteen year old Muggleborn girl and you saw what no one else, not even that fool Dumbledore had seen. You who kept Potter alive for years, who _broke into Gringotts _and kidnapped a dragon. You are quite extraordinary. Perhaps the Veil chucked _me_ out for a reason."

"How do you know all that?"

"Lots of people to chat to when you're dead. Besides the earlier Aurors were quite gossipy. Something to do with a loose tongued ex-boyfriend spilling secrets?"

Ron, boasting in his cups again. Merlin. Never mind.

"Are you serious? You've been talking about me in the after-life?"

"I couldn't move on, Hermione. I was stuck - in pieces, shredded even. They've been working on me to feel remorse since your little chum Potter ruined my diary. And every time you destroyed a Horcrux there were the voices of the dead, and of -" He frowned and stopped. "I can't remember but... Each single part of me had to feel remorse. All eight pieces separately. It was far beyond any of the Muggle conceptions of Hell preached to me by the nuns at the Orphanage. My memory of my time there is fading, however. But until you pulled me through that Veil I was shredded into pieces, in a world of pain beyond anything, trapped... forced to relive over and over again the harm I caused to others, to confront them... including you are your little friends. I heard no _end_ about you lot. And now I am _whole_. You are quite right, I was a fool and I ripped myself apart in a fool's quest but let me assure you I have paid the piper for that. I was too arrogant to believe that it would ever come to the total destruction on every part, and so I ignored all the warnings about the price to be paid after death... an eternal price. But not, apparently, for me - thanks to you."

She was silent because, really, what you say to that? He had finished on a smug note but there had been a real tinge of horror in his voice. She almost felt pity and they he ruined it by continuing.

"You might well loathe me but you cannot deny that I _fascinate_ you. Imagine what we could accomplish together... if I had had you by my side perhaps I would never have made the mistakes I did."

"You do fascinate me, I'm genuinely curious as to how anyone so allegedly brilliant could make so many mistakes, but apparently not nearly as much as I interest you. And let's get one thing straight, right now. You'll be by _my _side. You spent fifty years fucking it up so now you can sit and watch my masterclass in how to get everything you want done, done."

"So we are agreed, you will bind yourself to me?"

"If it comes to it, I will be binding _you_ to _me._ I'm the one with the untarnished soul and life-force here. I just... I'd like time to research the side-effects first."

And that was that. Soul bonded to Lord Voldemort. Except he wasn't Lord Voldemort, he was what he would have been had he not been bad at Maths. For all her demurring she knew she was going to agree. She was far to ambitious to die yet, and there was so much left she had to do. It had taken her this long to sort out the disgraceful mess regarding the legal system and sentient Magical beings, she hadn't even started on the laws regarding witches and wizards yet. No, it was not her time to die.

Soon afterwards, Unspeakable number 11 (they wore helpful silver badges with roman numerals on) came into the room and bowed to her.

"Miss Granger, we believe you have a matter of hours to make the decision."

"I've made it, I'm choosing life. You can do your ridiculous ceremony, but my friends ought to be warned first. I'd like them to be present, if it's possible? Especially Harry..." Although no doubt that would bring all sorts of problems. Perhaps presenting him with a _fait accompli _would be better? But no... this was her wedding day, of a sort. Harry and Ron had to be there, despite the circumstances.

"Very well. We will make the preparations."

"I'm extremely tired, how long do you think it will take?"

"We will be ready in half an hour. Time is of the essence."

"Fine. Send someone to collect us when you're ready."

He (or she, hard to tell) bowed and left the room.

She had half an hour left of freedom. Half an hour to prepare Ron and Harry... her headache increased dramatically and she saw Riddle flinch with pain.

"Presumably this damnable headache will go away when we're properly bonded?" she asked.

"One can only hope."

Harry and Ron didn't take the news well. Fortunately, someone else got the lucky job of explaining the situation to them and they'd already had Minister Shacklebolt to calm them down a bit before they arrived in the purgatory of Tom's holding cell so there was less disbelief and more resigned anger.

"Can't you just wait? There has to be another way!" Ron protested, grabbing her arm. "What about bonding to someone else?"

"I can't do that, we're linked. I can't even leave the room now and with every hour that he fades I have to stay closer. There isn't a choice here."

"Don't you think we make a good match?" Tom interrupted unhelpfully, an unconvincingly innocent expression pasted on his face. He was clearly enjoying every last second of this, the vile idiot.

"Well you can bond with him and then we'll kill him!" Ron offered, ignoring Riddle.

"If I die, she dies Weasley. Ironic isn't it? Finally a Horcrux of mine that you can't destroy."

"You are not helping Riddle! And I am _not_ your Horcrux." she snapped, and jabbed her wand at him, silencing him. He rolled his eyes, but continued to smirk.

Harry was just sitting, head in hands in despair. She felt quite sorry for him, but equally they were making such a fuss and she needed to think.

"Why isn't my scar hurting?" Harry asked, and Hermione wanted to hit him for making it all about himself as usual. She knew he didn't mean badly but _surely_ it was obvious?

"Harry you aren't a Horcrux any more and Riddle is, well, a different person technically speaking. He's not, you know, reformed or anything but he's... I don't know how to put it. A copy. A pure version of what he could have been. And _don't _take that as a compliment," she hissed at the problem himself.

They were interrupted by an Unspeakable, Kingsley, and two Aurors. It was time. Just in time, judging from Tom's outline which was becoming blurrier by the minute now. They had to hurry. She lifted the silencing spell as they undid his handcuffs (she suspected they'd become merely decorative as he lost solidity anyway but he was behaving, for now). He was handsome at least, even if he was a reprehensible bastard, and he was - despite her earlier words - extremely intelligent. She wouldn't get bored, whatever else lay in store...

.

They walked in silence up down to the Department of Mysteries. She didn't know what a soul bonding ceremony entailed, and they were illegal under normal circumstances, but she knew that once it was done it was done - forever and whatever came after ever had finished. In life, and in death she was with this man.

She was having second thoughts, truth be told, but she just wasn't ready to be done yet. She wasn't ready to die... so she would face this challenge with all of her Gryffindor courage (and her Slytherin cunning, although there had never been need to mention the hat's words to Harry and Ron but she remembered - _if your birth were under different circumstances... or you were a little older you would find your place well in Slytherin... Sometimes I think I sort too early_).

They kept going, until they were standing in the Entrance Chamber, the eerie blue light sending chills down her spine as it always did. She was glad that no one could see her eyes fill with tears, and hurriedly blinked them away. What was done was done, and she would just have to make the best of it.

"Where are we going?" Harry asked Kingsley - the Minister, Hermione corrected herself, but it was the Unspeakable who answered, face hidden beneath a cowled hood.

"We are entering the Ever-Locked Room, Mister Potter. You will be unable to speak of this room once you have left it, for its secrets are more closely guarded than any others we hold here. Do not touch anything," he appeared to be glaring at Ron, as though he knew about the brains... and then for a moment they couldn't hear anything, ears muffled as the Unspeakable stood facing one of the twelve doors, lips moving in a chant. He bowed, and the door swung open.

She followed the Unspeakable, Tom Riddle close behind her.

"You are beginning to fade, Hermione," he whispered, and she looked down at her hands in fear. He was right, and it was like all the air had been sucked from her lungs, her head pounding and dizzy until he took her arm, touching her for the first time and the air came rushing back, both their outlines steadying but still faded. His eyes were so dark in the gloomy light of the passage they had entered, and she felt trapped in them for a moment.

"Go on," he muttered, but took her hand as though he were anchoring himself. It wasn't romantic, but she felt a shock of warmth run up her arm from his touch.

* * *

.

"_There is a room in the Department of Mysteries that is kept locked at all times. It contains a force that is at once more wonderful and more terrible than death, than human intelligence, than the forces of nature. It is also, perhaps, the most mysterious of the many subjects for study that reside there. It is the power held within that room that you possess in such quantities and which Voldemort has not at all._"—Albus Dumbledore

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* * *

The passage ended, and they stepped out into a high ceilinged room, but she couldn't see through into the room, her view obscured by a golden mist burning almost too bright to look at. The air was filled with a music like that of phoenix song, and Hermione could feel the swirling magic of an ancient power, more terrible and sublime than any held within the Chamber of Death. As she stepped into the mist she almost dropped to her knees with the shock of it, but let the heat rush through her body, leaving her panting but unharmed. Next to her, though, Tom swayed back, grasping her hand so tightly that she almost cried out, and she looked up at him and saw his pale face twisted in pain, dark locks sticking to his sweating forehead, tears running down his cheeks.

"We must go on," the Unspeakable said, and she stepped forward, pulling him with her. The mist began to clear and she saw the chamber rise up and forward, white marble shining everywhere, and a great golden fountain (she couldn't help reflecting that Wizards really weren't known for their good taste, even in such hallowed surroundings) filled with a potion shining like mother-of-pearl, steam rising like spirals... she breathed in and was hit by a smell of leather and spice and parchment and dark chocolate and a smell that had no name but was the colour of the forest in high summer, green and dark and fresh. The air smelt of Tom Riddle, and she wanted to scream that surely it was too soon for that, they weren't bonded yet, but the faded outline of her skin and the feel of his hand still clasped in hers indicated that of course she was tied to him already, had been tied to him since the moment he fell from the Veil, and whatever this ceremony was was an affirmation of that bond.

They walked past the fountain, Harry, Ron and Kingsley close behind, and she had to hand it to Kingsley, whatever he'd said to them before they entered the tunnel had kept them in check so far.

At the very end of the room, five cowled figures stood around what appeared to be a raised stone dais, circular in shape. Not white marble this time, mercifully. There was quite enough of that everywhere else in the room. She didn't have time to examine the chamber properly, in fact if felt as though some unknown force was keeping her eyes forward - but they passed many things, nooks and entrances, tapestries and symbols, that flickered in the corner of her eye. She tried to turn her head as a pale winged being floated past but she couldn't.

"Did you see that?" she whispered.

"Yes," Tom replied, faintly and she looked up at him. His face was paler than it had been, jaw clenched stiffly as though he were in pain.

"Are you alright?"

"Just keep walking will you?" he hissed.

When they got to the dais, the Unspeakable leading them bowed again and stepped back to join the others. One was holding a great staff, two snakes swirling around it, topped with wings wrought in gold.

"The caduceus!" Hermione exclaimed and could have sworn she saw a smile on the Unspeakable's face, hidden as it was.

"I see the bonding has begun," a woman's voice came from under the cowl. "We must hurry. There will be time for explanations later. Please step onto the dais, and remember whatever happens _do not let go__._"

Her grip tightened as they stepped on the dais, and stood facing each other. She held her other hand out and he took it. Her hands were shaking a little and she wished she could take a moment to compose herself but the woman struck the staff down onto the dais, and the stone trembled beneath them, as a arc of light enclosed them, holding them trapped. And then an otherworldly song filled her ears, as beautiful and terrible as siren song. There was no going back now, she knew and she held on tight as a horrific pain ripped through her body.

A silvery shadow began to rise from her chest, and she stared down in horror - was that her _soul_? She looked at Tom and saw a mirror image, but duller than her own as though tarnished, a shadow version of himself floating upwards, half joined and half out of his body. Their souls, for what else could it be, rose up and up and came together and then she was screaming because she could feel _everything__, _remember everything that it meant to be Tom Riddle, as though she had become two people, and it was like ice and fire coming together in a freezing, burning pain like no other she had experienced. She couldn't see any longer, eyes blinded by tears, and she fell to her knees, clinging onto his hands, and he fell with her, clutching her tightly into his arms, screaming more terribly than she was.

As the pain began to clear she forced herself to look up and saw the souls locked in a battle and an embrace at the same time, burning with light as though they were welding together against their will... and then there was only darkness, welcoming her into oblivion's arms like a mother.

When she regained consciousness, she found herself lying on the dais, but the light of the ancient magic surrounding them was gentler now and not terrible, a soft warmth slowly fading, like the embers of a fire. She sat up, still holding Tom's arms and he was stirring too and then his mouth was on hers, hungry and she felt as though she were falling through a galaxy of stars.

When he pulled away he stared down into her eyes for a moment, and she wasn't sure but it looked like he was absolutely terrified.

"Happy birthday," she said, stupidly, and to her surprise he started laughing.

"You can step down now, Mr and Mrs Riddle. The ceremony is complete." The woman again - her voice low and cool, but musical. Hermione, reminded of their audience, was suddenly embarrassed by the spectacle they'd made. _Mrs Riddle_. Good _god._ No concept of keeping your maiden name in the magical world so there she was. Hermione Riddle.

"I should make one thing clear, _husband_," she whispered, "if you trying anything like your old tricks, if there's even a whisper of murder or evil I will kill myself and take you with me. If I die, you die, remember?"

"As if I could forget," he spat, but offered a hand to help her up nonetheless and they stepped off the dais to face their life together.

* * *

Well, that's part one! Part two to follow soon. Let me know what you thought! This was a gift for the 100th reviewer of Scientia Potentia Est, my Tomione WIP


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